Once outside, the counselor distributed the jerseys. Belt received number 13 for the white team. He stared at the fabric in his hands.
"The 13... The number of bad luck for others. Perfect."
He put on the jersey with a cold smile.
"From now on, this will be my trademark. The 13 will be the Emperor's number."
The Rules of the Game
The candidates gathered on the field. The test: a 20-minute match, 6 against 6, without a goalkeeper.
The referee was clear:
— The score matters little. We are not looking for lucky scorers. We are looking for creators, visionaries. Show us how you make the ball live.
The whistle blew.
A Catastrophic Start
The first few minutes were hell for Belt.
He, the solitary tiger, had never played in a "society." He held the ball too long, didn't know when to release it, ignored his teammates' calls.
The ball circulated everywhere, except to him. He was becoming ridiculous.
In the stands, laughter erupted:
— Who is this selfish player? Does he think he's playing alone?
— What a clown! He doesn't even know how to pass!
Quiena, sitting higher up, bit her lip:
"Oh no... I forgot. Belt is a genius, but he is an asocial genius. How will he survive in a pack?"
The Observation
Nine minutes passed. Belt was invisible.
His teammates ignored him now. The game was dominated by Number 5 of his team, a genius midfielder of 1m68 (5'6") who distributed the play like an orchestra conductor. Everything went through him. He was the sun of the team.
Belt, isolated on his wing, observed.
He watched Number 5 make a pass, then another. He analyzed his angles, his rhythm, his vision.
Suddenly, Uncle Jisk's voice echoed in his head:
"A predator is someone who knows how to be a clever prey to steal the other's strength."
Belt's eyes widened.
"But yes... Why am I trying to play my game? I just have to steal his."
He stared at Number 5.
"I will use the Mirror."
The Turnaround
There were 3 minutes left.
Suddenly, Belt changed his rhythm. He wasn't running randomly anymore. He modeled his movements on those of Number 5, but in reverse.
Number 5 was about to receive an easy pass. Belt appeared out of nowhere, anticipating the trajectory, and intercepted the ball intended for his own teammate.
General stupor.
Belt dashed forward. Number 4 was open on the right. Belt looked at him fixedly... but backheeled the ball to the left, towards Number 8 who was totally free.
A perfect blind pass.
The audience held its breath.
During the last two minutes, it was a massacre.
Every time Number 5 wanted to build an attack, Belt was there before him, or used his calls to create inverse spaces. He wasn't playing with the team, he was manipulating the team. He used other players as pawns to destroy the opposing logic.
When the referee blew the whistle, Belt was the only boss on the field.
The Recruiters' Point of View
In the box, the president's advisor adjusted his glasses, fascinated:
— Did you see that? He used Number 5's talent as a stepping stone. He didn't help the collective... he enslaved it. This Number 13 is dangerous. We must keep him.
Back to the Locker Room
The atmosphere was electric.
Number 8, a certain Snick Kans, approached Belt:
— Dude, what was that pass? I felt like the ball was remote-controlled to my foot. It was crazy.
Number 4, Nans Hamen, added:
— Clearly. I'm Nans, by the way. Well played, 13.
But not everyone was smiling.
Number 5 rushed at Belt and slammed his fist against a metal locker.
— Are you kidding me?! You think that's football? Stealing my balls? Using me to shine? You are pathetic!
He stepped closer, threatening:
— You are just a parasite who only knows how to copy. You have no talent.
Belt looked him straight in the eye, impassive:
— Sheep will never be predators because they have the innocence to believe the game is fair. Stay in your place.
He put his towel over his head and isolated himself, leaving Number 5 boiling with rage.
The Second Test: The Physical Hell
A few minutes later, the announcement fell: the physical test was starting.
The test was simple and brutal: an elimination race. 20 runners at the start. Only the last 3 standing would be kept.
Number 5 stood next to Belt on the starting line, a nasty smile on his lips:
— OK, parasite. Let's see if you can copy my endurance. I will break you.
Belt smiled internally.
"Endurance? If you knew what I went through with Tink..."
The whistle blew.
The race began. After 10 minutes, half of the candidates had given up.
After 20 minutes, only 4 runners remained.
Belt and Number 5 were neck and neck. Number 5 was breathing heavily, his face red with anger and effort.
Belt, however, was running with that strange style, body leaning forward, breath rhythmic. He didn't even seem to be forcing.
Number 5 panicked.
"Why isn't he stopping? He should be dead!"
Desperate, he tried to veer towards Belt to bump him "accidentally."
Belt saw the move coming. With a sharp acceleration, he left him standing.
Number 5, exhausted and off-balance, collapsed in the dust.
Belt continued alone. He ran an extra lap, just for honor, before the referee stopped him.
He walked back to Number 5, still on the ground, and looked down at him:
— You trained in the comfort of a stadium. I survived a jungle. That is the difference between a king and a servant.
In the stands, Morgking, the Titan, couldn't believe his eyes.
— He just equaled the high school record... This kid is not normal.
The crowd was in shock.
— First he copies talent, then he crushes physically... Who is this monster?
The referee signaled the total end. Belt Konp had just marked his territory.